Seraph
by In Paradisum
Summary: Bridging the end of XIII and the initial XIII-2 trailer leaked online. Snow sees something grossly out of the ordinary, Lightning doesn't believe him, and a mysterious individual tries his luck at wooing the apathetic soldier. Oneshot.


so here's the deal.

I'm not sure if anybody was able to catch the XIII-2 trailer on YouTube before they were all blocked, but the new character in here is **not an OC. **He's the guy that Lightning is shown battling at the end of the second half of the clip - he's also part of the Amano-drawn logo for the game.

This is a little oneshot I wrote based off of the trailer, and how (I'd like) I think this mysterious guy should/will act in the sequel (which by the way is due for release this year on both consoles). If you like this and think I should continue, please post a review saying so or something.

thanks, guys. :3

* * *

_Seraph_

_

* * *

_

The ice clinked against the glass as she raised it to her lips, feeling and relishing the steady burn of alcohol scorching her lips and throat. Over the rim of the hand-blown (for there was no other way to do it; technology as they had known it had yet to be accomplished by their own hands without fal'Cie puppetry guiding their strings, but that was a different story) cylinder of fired sand, Lightning watched as her brother-in-law toyed with his own mug.

A ring that had been stained into the table with use played as a target to set her glass back down on, and Lightning sat forward on her elbows. Now accustomed to the slightly less violent temperament of his once-archenemy, Snow did little to acknowledge her movement but a slight flick of his eyes.

That could also signify the mood he was in, though, not even feeling up to sparring with the elder Farron.

"Seraphim," and her tone was like an accusing knife stabbing deep between his eyes. "That's what you called them."

A mute nod. Snow's gaze turned back to his mug of alcohol. This subdued nature wasn't usual for him, but Lightning had seen it before, long ago in the Fifth Ark. The mood that meant something had just shaken his beliefs to his very core.

"Describe them." She was literally walking blind, here – after the taller had shown up on her doorstep, babbling something about angels, the first place that came to mind to get him to calm down was the tavern down the street, a right, and a left.

The blond sighed through his nose.

"This morning," he began, hesitant at first, "Serah and I went a few miles out to go watch the sun rise – you know how she likes to do that every now and then, says the baby enjoys it when it's quiet and peaceful. This morning in particular, she had morning sickness. So she went to go sit by the hoverbike and told me to watch it for her."

Routine. Though Lightning didn't enjoy being led the long way around, the result would almost certainly turn out to be a less disjointed account of whatever had happened about three hours earlier.

At this time of day, the tavern was usually empty. Apart from the two of them and a loner up by the counter nursing something dark, the place was. There was little danger of dissenters showing up to throw things at them again, though Lightning had been morbidly amused the last time it happened. The rocks they threw at the ex-l'Cie were exactly as frightening as a box full of kittens – mostly because they landed at least five feet short of their shoes. But that was also a different story.

The rose-haired woman nodded in response to Snow's wordless prompting.

"The sun rose, beautiful when you see it though Serah's pendant, I mean, but just the same as ever. Until it broke away from the horizon – then the whole sky was on fire." The resident hero had, unknowingly, slipped into his patented story-telling mode. Honed to precision in the aftermath of Cocoon's fall, and complete with onomatopoeia, embellished details and large hand motions. Somewhat reminiscent of the man himself, she supposed absentmindedly.

Lightning was caught off guard when he paused, blinking owlishly as she dragged herself out of the mire of instant speculation. Of course he had more to describe.

"There was this gigantic roaring maw – it looked like a dragon or a snake – just made of flames, and the sun was in place of one of its eyes. And then another one appeared right next to it, but the weirdest bit about watching this was the complete and utter silence."

Nod. Snow's voice was starting to get a little louder as his hands touched the table between sentences.

"And then feathers started falling. Not bird feathers, they were way too big to be birds. But they were scorched black, and when I touched one, it disintegrated into ash."

"Seraphim," Lightning finished. "It's a good name for this hallucination of yours."

"It's not-" Snow stole one of her signature expressions of annoyance, pinching the bridge of his nose as he silently counted to ten. At six, he opened his mouth again. "You can ask Serah, even. She saw it too."

Lightning rolled her eyes. "Wonderful – so whatever dissenting group drugged your food got my expecting sister as well. Thanks, Hero."

"For Maker's sake," the blond swore under his breath, got up, and left. The bell on the door tinkled after him as it closed tight in its frame.

She wanted to call him a coward. She did. But he was probably being the bigger person here, by just leaving – Serah really was a good influence on him after all.

Lightning frowned into her empty glass, sighed, and exchanged it for Snow's. The woman downed it in a single gulp, and felt no better for it.

Nursing an empty mug for five minutes and staring into the space that the hulking blond had vacated, only her inherent soldier instinct saved her from dropping the slightly warped glass as two metal-clad hands slammed down onto her table.

The loner from the bar smiled at her, and she frowned right back.

"Buy you a drink?" he started, undeterred by her icy demeanor. Shooting a meaningful look at the empty mug in hand, it was obvious he wouldn't let her get away with "I was just leaving," or some other typical decline. It was a testament to her state of thought that she didn't hear the – on closer inspection – armored man get up and walk towards her.

The horned crown he wore atop his long, silver hair was probably a signpost to how cocksure he was. A light vest of chainmail painted a dark smoke lay underneath a purple cape, clasped at his shoulders, that hung to his calves. The lower half of his body, from what she could see, was left nearly unprotected with naught but a thin layer of black material between his legs and the smoke-colored kneeguards that matched the chain-vest.

He mistook her disapproving once-over for her interest, and he attempted to lay on the charm. "Woman as easy on the eyes as you, sherry fills your glass, am I right?"

She met his eyes, forest green to ice blue – "Whiskey. Straight."

If he was taken aback, he didn't show it. "Whatever makes the lady happy," he seconded to the bartender, who had come over to hand the man his glass and now scurried away to do his bidding.

He slid into the booth across from Lightning uninvited, taking his alcohol with him. "Rum," he informed, also unbidden. She pretended he wasn't there as she scratched at her nails, frowning silently at one that had chipped jaggedly.

"Name for the pretty lady?" he still pressed, swilling his rum before taking another gulp.

She might as well throw the kid a bone. Though he was taller than her, he was distinctly younger (by her estimate), looking barely over twenty-one while she herself was twenty-four – so the 'kid' label was justified, at least to herself.

"Lightning," she relented, and left it at that.

"Fast, deadly, but deceptively beautiful. Lightning." He tried it out. "I like it – suits you."

Lightning didn't even bother to make eye contact with him. A lock of her pink hair fell into her eyes as she shifted, and she irritably pushed it away.

"My friends, they call me Strike. That's all you see, and then you're out," Strike gloated, leaning back and folding his arms across his lap. He coupled that with a lopsided grin. "Then again, they also call me prick, so who am I to trust them, right?"

The rose-haired woman couldn't help but give a derisive snort.

"Haven't seen you around here – where ya from?" Now he was starting to lay on his 'charm' thick, apparently, swiping a wayward strand of hair behind his ear.

"Oerba," she deadpanned.

"But that's where we-" Strike started to say, but Lightning cut in before he could finish.

"What the townsfolk won't tell you is that we were the first ones to repair and settle this village, make it livable for all the Cocoon refugees. Us – the Pulse l'Cie that this mess was blamed on." Dropping that little bomb was the equivalent of a 'shoo!' to anyone from the area.

Strike didn't appear to have gotten the memo.

"Well, thanks then. Lovely town you built – er, repaired – here, you know? Pretty view of Cocoon what with all that flatland."

Refreshing frame of mind but completely unnecessary. "That was supposed to translate to, 'being seen with me here in this town might get you killed.' Chivalrous guy that you are, you'll vacate for the good of both of us," Lightning hinted.

"Ah, ah," Strike held up a single gloved finger to cut off her indignant release of breath. "You ain't getting rid of me that easily."


End file.
